


Gather Before the Dawn

by PeaceHeather



Series: Merlin fics [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Complete, Gen, Immortal Merlin, Pining, Searching for Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12621680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: Arthur has always had dreams of his past life; when he is finally old enough to be able, he seeks out his knights, one by one. Only one person is missing: Merlin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story idea that wouldn't leave me alone, and I would noodle on it to procrastinate while I was was working on other things. I finally decided to wrap up and slap an ending on it, and post it here for you to enjoy. There are a lot of loose ends and unresolved plot points, largely because of the slapped-on ending, which I did because if I had sat down to address them all, this would have grown into yet _another_ novel-length work, and I'm trying to prove to myself that I'm still capable of writing short stories. (Pretty sure I failed.) It is possible that I will come back and add to this 'verse, in order to address those loose ends, but I didn't want to put any pressure on myself, so I'm presenting this to you as complete for now. I hope you enjoy.

Arthur has always known he was different. Well, maybe not always. He was eight when he realized that other kids didn't have dreams about being grown up and wearing armor and leading men into battle and fighting off dragons. He stopped talking about his dreams after the first time he was laughed at by his friends.

That didn't mean the dreams went away.

Always the dreams, always the same faces, always the blood and violence, and it felt like a life he'd been born to despite his father's insistence that he would take over the family business when Uther retired.

By the time he was twelve, his voice barely even beginning to crack, Arthur had felt like he was thirty. He'd remembered his own death by then, remembered what it was like to lead, and it was so, so frustrating to be ignored in this child's body he lived in now.

But he'd also remembered patience, remembered biding his time to get what he wanted, remembered how to hone his body into a weapon and his mind into a constant state of readiness for war, so he did that.

Yeah, high school athletics were a bit of a letdown when he dreamed every night of bloody, lethal combat. His father was a bit bemused, but pleasantly surprised, when Arthur insisted on signing up for a local martial arts academy, and then when his teacher told Uther that Arthur was a natural. Arthur wasn't sure he was a natural so much as he was finally practicing what he'd already known to do.

He still participated in the school football league, because it was social and he did enjoy it to a point. No one was surprised when he was named team captain, despite being two years younger than most captains; he had a habit of coming up with better strategies than the older students and a knack for getting his teammates to follow him.

But that was his youth, which had felt too much like he was playacting a part for him to really enjoy. He'd done all right in school and had plenty of friends, but he'd always felt the need to keep them at arm's length, never quite letting them in on his secret. He'd always felt restless, like he was merely waiting for bigger things to come along, and he wanted to be ready for them when they did.

He did a stint in the military, quickly snapped up for officer training when his superiors saw the way people naturally fell into line around him—saw the fights he broke up and the heads he knocked together, saw the way he pushed himself harder than even the drill sergeants did, and the way the men and women around him responded to that. He was an acknowledged leader long before he'd been given the stripes on his uniform to make it official.

It wasn't the same as being king, though. It came close, but it didn't stop the dreams.

* * *

 

When Arthur turns twenty-one, his father decides there are some things he needed to know, and suddenly he has a half-sister he's never met named Morgana, and a shock like lightning going down his spine the first time they get together for coffee.

They'd never met, but he knows her from his dreams. She seems equally surprised to meet him, or at least the expression on her face says so, but she covers it quickly, and neither of them are so stupid as to bring up something so personal and intimate when they're just getting to know one another.

At least this incarnation of his sister doesn't seem inclined to kill him. She's understandably bitter about him having the father and the acknowledgment that she never got to grow up with, but she also knows where to place the blame for that, and it isn't on the child that Arthur used to be.

"I'm a lawyer," she tells him. "Just starting out, of course, but I specialize in child advocacy and I do a lot of pro bono work for kids trying to emancipate themselves, whether it's from abusive parents or just trying to get out of the foster-care system and on their own."

"It sounds… good," says Arthur after a sip of his coffee. "Meaningful."

"It is," she says, giving him a measuring look. "You?"

"When our father retires, I'm expected to take over, but… I'm not sure I want to. I'm good at it—resource distribution and administration—but it's not exactly the same as going out and saving lives, is it?"

"He said something about you being a firefighter right now?"

"Reserve, yes. He wants me to give it up, but…"

"But it feeds you," she says. "The way the pro bono work feeds me."

"That's one way of putting it, yes." Arthur smiles, and to his relief, Morgana smiles back, and there's nothing of venom in it.

There's not exactly a modern equivalent for the career of kingship, after all. Helping people was something that Arthur had always cared about, whether it was on the battlefield to defend the homes and livelihoods of his subjects, or in the council chamber, making sure that supplies of grain got to the people who needed it.

"We have a pro bono wing to the business, too," he says. "I'm only just getting it off the ground. We supply aid to our client farmers and villages when they are affected by disaster, in the poorer parts of Africa. I'm hoping to expand our operations there, beyond just our clients, but…" He winces. "There's always a bit of imperialist tendency to look out for, isn't there, if we're not careful. Those farms might supply us with goods, but we don't actually own that land. We certainly don't own the people or the villages. It's important to remember that."

Morgana narrows her eyes in evident suspicion. "What do they supply?"

"Cotton, coffee, and cocoa, for the most part. I convinced Father to stay away from the entire diamond mess. Anything to do with mines, whether it's diamonds or copper or uranium, is just rife with human exploitation, or else in the middle of a war zone. Or both. Fair trade coffee and cocoa are a lot less hazardous to everyone's health."

Morgana's eyebrows raise, the closest to an expression of approval he's likely to get from her.

There's not exactly a modern equivalent to the career of kingship, but Arthur thinks that managing trade and distribution in these other countries might be close. He's even convinced Uther that it's to their benefit to send representatives to the diplomatic conferences to try and prevent war, and that disaster management is just good business to keep the cocoa supply steady.

Even so, none of this stops the dreams.

Finally Arthur, desperate for a connection to the people he's been dreaming about, decides to suck it up and try the Internet. He discovers concepts like dream interpretation, Akashic records, and finally reincarnation, which both Buddhists and Hindus put a fair amount of stock in, so maybe it's not a completely crazy notion.

There are plenty of flaky websites out there discussing reincarnation and the power of crystals, and spirit guides and transmissions from the Star People, and who knows what else; most of them are just embarrassing for Arthur to look through, but eventually he finds one called "Distant Destinies", with a message forum that seems… well, maybe not "legitimate", but at least not a scam to bilk people out of their money in exchange for knowledge of their past lives. The forums include a FAQ on what to do if you remember your previous incarnation, and some of the advice even seems sensible.

From a religious point of view, reincarnation is supposed to happen because there are lessons to be learned and enlightenment to be attained, and each life is meant to get a person a little bit closer to that final goal. Arthur is pretty sure he's not all that enlightened or evolved, or whatever the term is; he just has vivid dreams where he remembers things all the way down to the taste of the bread the palace kitchens baked, and the scent of the stones of the palace courtyard when it rained. The particular way the sun slanted through the curtains in his chamber, early in the morning. The feel of a sword in his hand, and not even his martial arts classes have come close to bringing that memory to life for him. The smell of blood and burning flesh, which his time in the military brought back but which was only familiar and saddening rather than traumatic or sickening.

The weight of armor on his shoulders. The weight of a crown on his brow.

The tingle of magic, cast by actual sorcerers.

Tentatively, Arthur searches through a few websites about magic, but it's impossible to tell whether what he's finding is some modern-day New Age invention based on horoscopes and superstition, or if it's the last remnants of actual sorcery in the world, hidden away from those who no longer believe. Eventually he clears his browser history and goes back to the reincarnation site.

"Who Were You?" is the title of one of the forums. It seems all the women were Cleopatra, and all the men were Napoleon, though there is at least one Mozart and a couple of Alexander the Greats. Arthur can't help but wonder where all the ordinary farmers have gotten to, or non-Europeans for that matter. "This is probably another dead end," he mumbles, but it's still worth a shot.

He's done his reading on who he thinks he used to be, even written a paper about the legendary figure back in university as part of the obligatory literature course, so he creates a username—"rexquondam"—and signs in.

 _How many King Arthurs are out there?_ he asks, perhaps a little tongue in cheek. _Just checking._ He creates an email address specifically to feed to this account, separate from his personal and work emails, and hopes that it will be enough to cover his tracks.

On the weekend, he checks back—it doesn't do to seem too anxious, after all—and finds a handful of replies. Three are adamant that they were, in fact, King Arthur themselves; a few are off-topic and mainly say things about how Arthur shouldn't mock other seekers of truth on the forum. But there's one that intrigues him.

 _Not a king here,_ says a user who goes by the moniker "andthegreenknight", _but I'm pretty sure I used to fight for one. PM me if you want to trade details._

Two of the other three "kings" have publicly replied to the thread, saying that they remember their loyal knight Gawain. Of course, Arthur has read that poem too, also back in university. They offer details that don't in any way mesh with what Arthur's dreams have told him.

 _You were obnoxious and drank too much,_ he replies, biting his lip. _You called me Princess, and you and my manservant saved my life more than once._

Within the hour, he's gotten three more replies, two of them arguing that he's sullying the memory of a legendary knight of Camelot. The other is a request from "andthegreenknight" to open a private chat window.

 _Tell me how my name was really spelled,_ says the message.

 _It was Gwaine_ , says Arthur.

There's a long pause, then finally… _Do you look like you used to?_

Arthur has to think about it, then glance at the mirror hanging on his dining room wall. _I think so. I have better teeth—hoorah for modern medicine._

_How far are you from Dublin?_

_I'm in London, why?_

_I want to meet._

Arthur checks his calendar. A trip to Dublin from London is either a short flight or a medium drive and a ferry trip. Easy to accomplish over a weekend. Still, it would be best to be cautious. _What about you?_ he asks. _Do you look like you used to?_

 _I'm even prettier, Princess._ And there's an attachment, which Arthur clicks on.

His breath catches when he sees the familiar face. _I've been dreaming about you since I was a child_ , he replies immediately; he hits send and only then realizes just how ridiculous he sounds.

 _I'm the man of everyone's dreams, it would seem,_ says Gwaine, and Arthur can't help but grin.

_Are you still named Gwaine in this life? I ask because my half-sister is Morgana and my father is Uther. A little weird in this day and age, but he was named for his great-grandfather._

_Gavin, actually, but close enough. You can call me Gwaine if it turns out to be really you,_ comes the reply. _And no offense, but I'd rather not meet either of them._

 _Morgana hasn't tried to kill anyone yet,_ Arthur says. _She's a lawyer. Specializes in child advocacy._

 _Ah, so she's still a shark then,_ says Gwaine—Gavin—whoever he is. _So, are we meeting or not?_

Arthur thinks about it, then figures what the hell and checks his calendar. _How does Saturday sound?_

Gwaine gives Arthur the name of a pub in Temple Bar. _It'll be loaded with tourists, but I reckon that's a safety precaution for the both of us, yeah?_

Arthur can't fault his logic. _Be sober when I get there._

_Ah, but where's the fun in that?_

* * *

 

It's Gwaine. It's really him. He looks weird in modern day clothing, when Arthur has always seen him in armor or the garb of his past life, but the delighted grin on his face is just the same as Arthur remembers. They meet with a bear hug and a lot of manly slapping each other on the back, and of course Gwaine buys him a pint to celebrate.

"My god, this is amazing," says Gwaine. "I never thought I'd find any of you."

"Likewise," says Arthur. "I've been dreaming of… that time… since I was a kid."

"I only started in my teens," says Gwaine. "But vivid. Christ! Thought I was going mad for a bit."

"I hear you," Arthur says with feeling. "When I realized none of the other boys my age had dreams of being king…"

"Yeah."

Gwaine won't talk about his job or his family, except to say that he has one. He's divorced, Arthur learns, and has a daughter whom he adores, but that's all he'll say.

"That's different from before, isn't it?"

"Ah, knowing my luck, probably not, actually. This is just a daughter I know about," he says with a little grimace. "Mind you, I'd move heaven and earth for her, and I would've then, too, only…"

"Yeah." Arthur takes a sip of his beer and thinks about his drive to be that person he once was. "Do you do anything with it?" he asks.

Luckily, Gwaine seems to know what he means. "Not really. Bit of martial arts practice. My fair share of bar brawls. I went ahead and got a pilot's license a few years ago; that helps a little with the wanderlust. Being a da has taken up more of my time than anything from back then. But lately, I've been feeling this pull. Like in the old days, when it was time to pick up and go, see where the road would take me. Might be time to add a few more hours to my flight logs."

"What about your daughter?"

Gwaine smiles, but it's a little painful to see. "She would be why I haven't left before this," he says, and Arthur nods. "What about you? Legend is, you're supposed to rise when England's need is greatest."

Arthur just shakes his head. "I didn't 'rise', Gwaine, I was born just like everyone else. And you'd think I'd have come back for either of the World Wars to help out if that were the case." But there's something… "But do you ever get the feeling that something is coming?"

Gwaine's expression sobers instantly, and he leans in, lowering his voice. "You've felt it too?"

"I don't know what I've felt," says Arthur. "Only this pull, like you've said. I need to meet you all. I thought it was just that I needed to know my dreams were real, but now I've met you and, and I'm not satisfied. No offense! Meeting you in the flesh is… amazing. But I need _more_. I need to see all of you."

"All of us?"

"At least the Round Table," says Arthur, knowing how insane it sounds as soon as the words leave his mouth. He glances around the pub, but no one is paying them any attention.

"And I'm the first you've found?" asks Gwaine.

"Yeah. Well. Morgana, possibly, but just because she's here doesn't mean she remembers anything. My father certainly doesn't. But you're the first I've gone looking for."

"Hm. Would've thought it'd be Leon or Lancelot, one of them. Or Merlin. Surprised he's not here with you, actually."

And there's the name that Arthur has been trying not to think for perhaps his entire adult life. "I know." The ache of missing someone who is closer to him in dreams than any of his friends in his waking life is nearly overwhelming, and for a long moment he can't meet Gwaine's eyes.

"You know, there was always something about him," Gwaine says.

"Yeah," says Arthur, and his voice is rough with unshed tears.

He looks up to see Gwaine looking at him in sympathy, and the other man reaches over and pats him on the shoulder. "Let's see about finding him, then, shall we?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouragement on Chapter 1! I'm hoping to update the story almost daily, but I'll be traveling tomorrow so you won't see Chapter 3 until Monday. Oh well -- more time for you to comment, yes? Yes. (I hope.)
> 
> Enjoy!

Only Merlin isn't the next person they find. Arthur keeps his account open on Distant Destinies, and checks the forum once a week. _"King Arthur seeking Round Table knights and those closest to him in previous life,"_ he writes, and leaves the thread open for people to respond to. He gets plenty of replies, but it's months before he sees one that looks worth a followup.

It's Gwen.

It's Gwen, and she has just been hired to work as a paralegal and personal assistant to Morgana. The resemblance to their former lives is unnerving.

"So you remember too!" she says over coffee. "This is amazing. I've always thought I was the only one."

"I found Sir Gwaine in Dublin," says Arthur, and Gwen grins.

"That's three of us!"

"Maybe four, if Morgana remembers. I haven't had the courage to ask her."

Gwen's face falls. "Oh. Yeah, that would be something, wouldn't it?"

"Don't you have a hard time working for her?"

"No, she's wonderful! She's so passionate about her work, but it's like… it's like the rage she felt when she was, _you know_ , in our other time, it's just not there. Like she doesn't have a reason for it. Or if it is there, it's all focused into a drive to help the less fortunate."

Arthur nods.

"Or maybe I just learned from my past," says Morgana, startling them both as she sits down at their table. Arthur takes a deep breath, but she waves him off, and only looks tired. "Yes. I remember. I've had dreams my entire life. And I can tell you, having dreams _about_ yourself having dreams? Is very disconcerting."

Gwen has gone silent and a little pale, looking at the woman she works for.

"It was another life," says Morgana. "And we were all so young. God, we still are now, but… I made my own choices, I won't deny that, but I was also manipulated onto the path I eventually took, by my own fear and by Uther's hatred, and by Morgause…" She shakes her head. "You can believe me or not, I don't care. But I'd rather leave the past dead and buried where it belongs."

They're all silent for a moment until Gwen, bless her, speaks up. "But isn't it odd that we're all remembering, and finding one another? Don't you think it could mean something?"

"It might have, in old Camelot," says Morgana. "But as far as I know, magic is dead too."

"And if it isn't?" asks Arthur.

Morgana meets his eyes calmly. "Then I want no part of it."

Arthur's not sure he believes her, and the skepticism must show on his face, because her expression changes. "I've been to that website too, you know," she says. "Reincarnation is supposed to be a chance to start over. To learn important lessons. Don't you think I've earned that? Or are you going to hold me responsible for something that happened so long ago no one is even sure whether it really existed anymore?"

"Morgana, no," says Gwen. "I look at you and I see the person I dreamed about, but I also see the person you are now. And I like that person. A lot! I don't want to drag those things out into the light any more than you do. But there are some things we may not be able to get away from."

"You mean you think I'll go that route again and betray you all?" Morgana asks bitterly.

"No. That your passion to help people who can't help themselves is already here in your work. That your fire and drive… you said yourself it was only fear and hate that turned that drive toward a different path, a different goal. Morgana, what if we're all remembering for a reason? What if something is coming, and we'll all be needed?"

Arthur shivers—but he does not miss the way Morgana's face goes absolutely terrified for the briefest instant, before she covers it again. "Morgana?"

She takes a deep breath, and the exhale is shaky. "I want no part of it," she says again, but her voice is small.

"Morgana," Arthur tries again. "We kept too many secrets in our past. Uther kept them from us—"

"—and Morgause was able to use them to manipulate me," says Morgana.

"Right, but don't you see, we're not interested in doing that!" says Gwen. "We were never like that, not in our past and not now. Come on," she says, taking Morgana's hand, "you know us better than that. You know we'd never."

"I know who you used to be," Morgana corrects her, pulling her hand away. "I don't want to go back to those days."

"But there's something," Arthur guesses.

Morgana looks down at her hands, then visibly braces herself. "It all started with dreams," she says with a little laugh, shaking her head. "Gwen, do you remember the nightmares I used to have… back then?"

Gwen's eyes go wide and she gives a little gasp. "Are you having them now? Oh, you poor thing."

"It's not as bad as it used to be," says Morgana. "For one thing, I already knew what they were by the time they started, this time around. And I've got a _little_ control over them." She looks up at them then, and Arthur feels a chill. "But yes. Something is coming. I don't know what, but," she looks directly at Arthur, almost like she's looking through him, "you'll be needed in the days to come."

* * *

 

For nearly a year, it is only the four of them; mostly three, because Gavin refuses to meet Morgana and Morgana, according to Arthur, says she can't blame him. But Gavin is busy in Dublin, getting in touch with the local magical community, where it turns out, if one knows where to look, one can find the remnants of the ancient druid communities that once wandered the British Isles. Ireland has always kept a bit more magic than anywhere else in the Western world, it seems, and they have seers of their own who eventually let them know that Gavin is a: looking for them and b: means no harm to any of them.

"You remember," says an old woman with hands twisted by arthritis. "You remember who you used to be."

"I do," says Gavin.

"Not many do. They think they do, or they catch glimpses, but yours are true memories."

"I like to think so."

"And have you met your king yet, Sir Gwaine?" asks the woman, and he feels a little shiver go down his back and strongly wishes for a drink.

"I have, actually," he says. "But I came to you looking for someone else."

"The warlock," says the old woman. "It is not yet his time to be found."

Warlock. It's still strange to think of his friend Merlin as magic, but that's what Arthur had told him after a few months of meeting for pints and reminiscing. Arthur hadn't learned Merlin's secret until he'd been more or less on his deathbed; he'd told Gavin, after drinking almost all the booze Gavin could afford, that what hurt the most was knowing his closest friend hadn't trusted him with his deepest secret. That Merlin had in the span of a moment become someone Arthur hadn't known at all.

Not yet his time to be found, the lady says. Gavin narrows his eyes. "But he is alive?"

The old woman wraps gnarled fingers around her mug and stares into her tea as if it holds all the secrets she wants to keep from him. "He is, poor thing," she says finally. "Oh, he is."

"What's wrong? Is he in trouble?"

"No," says the old woman. Gavin wishes she would have shared her name with him, but the druids are cagey folks even in the 21st century. "No, he's not in any trouble that I've heard tell of. The lot of you looking for him is likely to be the most adventure he's seen in a long time."

"We just want to meet him," says Gavin. "Arthur misses him. I miss him. He was my friend, back then, when very few people were."

"And you have no other agenda than that?" The old woman eyes him. Cagey, but Gavin can play that game too when he has to.

"Do we need one?"

"Better if you have none," she says, and smiles finally. Half her teeth are gone. "Emrys has many acquaintances, but few true friends. That you look for him and don't seek to use his gifts speaks well of you."

"Who's this Emrys, then?" he asks. "I'm talking about my friend Merlin."

"They are the same," says the old woman. "That was his name in the tales of my ancestors. There were prophecies written about him and your king."

"The Once and Future King," says Gavin. "I've read some of those tales." Not that they managed to get much of anything right, at least not according to the memories he has of being Sir Gwaine.

"Albion's greatest need is coming, sir knight," says the old woman. Her eyes seem to pierce through all of Gavin's bravado and bluster to the nobleman that Gwaine used to be. "You will be needed. And so will he. Tell your king to prepare."

"Prepare for what?"

But she only shakes her head, and does not reply.

* * *

 

Gwen's brother joins them in the spring. "I hadn't wanted to meet you for the longest time," he explains. "I was the son of a smith then, and I make jewelry now. My life is not complicated and no one is going to kill me for what I do."

"I understand," says Arthur, disappointed.

"But… I keep feeling this pull," says Elyan—though it's Allen, nowadays. "It may seem strange, but… do you get the feeling that something is coming? That there's a reason we're all finding one another now?"

Arthur nods, a chill rippling down his spine. "I don't know what it is. And I fear that it's something magic, to be affecting us like this."

"None of us had magic back then," says Allen. Then he glances up sharply at Arthur. "Did we?"

"No. None of _us._ " Arthur works up his courage and says it. "Merlin did."

"Merlin." The other man huffs a little. "I don't know why that surprises me, now that I think about it."

"What do you mean?"

"I… there was that spirit. The druid that… possessed me? If I'm remembering it right." At Arthur's nod, he goes on. "They knew stories about a powerful sorcerer that aided a king. Emrys, they called him. And I think they recognized Merlin."

"You didn't suspect?"

"Not then, no. I didn't remember, I think. But in my dreams, I do." He shakes his head and downs the last of his beer. "It doesn't make any sense, but there it is."

"Maybe the dreams aren't just memories," says Arthur slowly. "Maybe they're trying to tell us something."

"Pssh. They've already told me plenty, mate. More than I wanted to know."

Arthur had to acknowledge the point. "Bit hard to prove any of what we remember, isn't it?"

"Well, we all exist," says Allen. "That's something."

"Yeah. That's something."

* * *

 

In the summer, Gwen comes to them, looking excited and guilty all at the same time. "I'm seeing someone," she announces, glancing at Morgana for reassurance.

Arthur blinks. "Okay, and…?" Morgana nudges him. "I mean, congratulations, but… you know. Why tell us?"

Gwen takes a deep breath. "It's Lancelot."

Arthur can feel his eyebrows climb his face. "You're sure."

"Positive! And we haven't talked about it yet, but I think _he_ remembers, too. Sometimes I catch him looking at me like… like he knows something, or like he's keeping a secret."

"Bring him to meet us," says Arthur. "If he remembers, great. If he doesn't, well, it's still meeting your best friend and her brother. No big deal, right?"

"Right," says Gwen, but she looks doubtful.

"What is it?"

"Well, it's just… you and I, we were married back then," she says, biting her lip, "and I don't—I don't want anything…"

"I get it," says Arthur. "We're not those people. Or, we were, but this is the 21st century, not the 6th or whenever it was that we lived the first time. We're not being forced to live those lives all over again." He looks at Morgana and squeezes her hand, and she smiles at him. "I always wondered about you and Lancelot anyway."

Morgana's smile fades. "That time he came back from the dead," she says.

"How did you know—oh."

Morgana sighs. "Gwen was faithful to you until I… altered things." She winces and looks away. "You know I've wanted no part of this, and this is only the smallest part of why."

"But you're not that person. And Gwen and I… we didn't practically grow up together, in this life. Back then, all the other options I had were political and I wanted to marry for love. Gwen, you were my first love, but…"

"But first loves aren't always meant to last," she finishes, and Arthur feels his shoulders drop in relief. "No. I think I was always meant for Lancelot, to be honest. But he never asked, always stepping out of the way to be the bigger man, and let you win me, and then it was too late." She sighs. "So much drama. We were ridiculous then, weren't we?"

"We were young," says Morgana. She's said it before, but there's nothing untrue about it. "We made mistakes that we can hope to avoid this time around. The benefit of hindsight."

So they arrange a time, the four of them, to get together for dinner at a nice restaurant. Gwen explains it to Lancelot as her best friend not seeing anyone and bringing her brother as a plus-one.

Lancelot jolts when he sees them for the first time, and looks pale as he sits down.

"Are you all right?" asks Morgana.

"I—yes. Yes, I'm fine," says Lancelot, looking back and forth between them all.

"Only you look like you've seen a ghost, mate," says Arthur wryly.

Lancelot smiles nervously. "Something like that." They order drinks, and he goes on, "You remind me of someone I used to know."

"Oh? What happened to them?"

Lancelot shakes his head, but doesn't take his eyes off Arthur except to cast wary glances at Morgana. "It was a long time ago."

"Too long," says Arthur. Lancelot starts and stares at him until Gwen takes his hand and they turn the talk to other things.

It takes a while, but the dinner is leisurely and they go back to Gwen's for coffee and drinks afterward. Arthur wants to push, but knows he can't rush it. If there's one thing this life has taught him, it's patience.

They learn that Lancelot's name in this life is Lanzo and he was born in England to Venezuelan parents, so he has dual citizenship. He works as a police officer, and tells them that the best part of the job is knowing that he's helping to keep innocent people safe.

It's so much like the Lancelot Arthur remembers that he can't help but say, "A knight in shining armor." Lanzo starts at that, again, and looks at Arthur strangely before offering a tentative smile. "Nothing so glorious, I'm afraid. I just do my part."

The evening goes by, and the topic of conversation drifts where it will, until…

"Well, I know it seems daft here in the West, but I do believe in reincarnation," Gwen is saying, and Lancelot is studying her face intently. She catches him looking, and dimples. "What?"

"Nothing. I just wouldn't have expected…"

"Oh, well. I mean I'm not going to convert to Buddhism or anything. It's just, I used to have the most fantastic dreams," she says, and Lancelot—Lanzo—goes pale for the second time that evening.

"We all did," says Arthur casually. "A couple of years ago I even went to Distant Destinies to learn more about the whole thing."

"I remember thinking I was going mad," says Morgana. Lanzo nearly flinches as he looks at her. "Gwen, this coffee is fantastic; where did you say you got it?"

* * *

 

"Do you think we scared him off?" asks Morgana, in the car on the way home. "Do you think _I_ scared him off?"

"Time will tell," says Arthur.

* * *

 

The next time Arthur checks in, there is a new entry on the forum at Distant Destinies. A new member calling themselves "ShiningArmor" has left a few comments here and there, nothing too revealing. Arthur responds where it's appropriate, but keeps things light. He's almost sure, but Lancelot seems skittish, and Arthur has never wanted to force his people out of hiding, to act out of fear rather than loyalty and respect.

A few nights after that, Lancelot is waiting outside Arthur's apartment door when he gets home from work. "Lanzo." The man is in uniform, and Arthur immediately thinks of Gwen. "Is everything all right?"

"It's fine. I just… could we talk?"

"Of course."

Arthur lets them in. Lancelot is in uniform but off duty, and accepts the offer of a beer with something akin to relief. He runs his fingers through his hair and glances around the apartment awkwardly. "I ran a background check on you," he says finally.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Find anything interesting?"

"You are who you say you are," says the other man. "But I just… I don't know. I had to do something. I thought meeting you was some sort of elaborate prank at first. Although I don't know how anyone could have pulled off something like that, to be honest."

"Something like…?"

"I remember you." He says the words in a rush. "The other night, when Gwen brought up reincarnation; I know it sounds crazy but—"

"It's not crazy," says Arthur. "I remember too. Lancelot."

Lanzo swallows hard, looking more vulnerable, more afraid, than Arthur has ever remembered. Perhaps that's something different about him in this life.

"I understand," Arthur says. "Believe me, I do. I didn't meet Morgana until I was twenty-one, and didn't know she remembered until after I'd met Gwen."

Lanzo grimaces and looks away, anywhere but at Arthur. "About Gwen…"

"We were never together," says Arthur gently. "Not in this life."

"This life." Lanzo huffs a little laugh shaking his head.

"I don't know what else to tell you. If you care for her, that's all that matters to me."

Now Lanzo is looking at him with wonder in his eyes. "God, Arthur… is it really you?"

"I'm pretty sure. I've had dreams as far back as I can remember."

"Mine started when I was, I don't know, twelve or thirteen. Influenced my decision to go into police work."

"I'm not surprised. I think we've all been influenced."

"Is it just you and Gwen, and Morgana?"

"No, there's Elyan, too, though he goes by Allen, now. And I've met Gwaine—Gavin," says Arthur. "He lives in Dublin. Has a daughter, if you can believe it."

"Gwaine." Lanzo—Lancelot—shakes his head. "I'd love to see him again."

"Could probably be arranged… actually, hang on a moment." Arthur pulls out his phone and sends a quick text. "We were planning to get together again at the end of the month. I think he'd be happy to have you join us."

* * *

 

Gwaine, as it turns out, is ecstatic to see Lancelot again. "God," he exclaims between hugs and back slaps. "We're almost all together again."

"We're still missing a few," says Arthur. "Unless…?"

"Yeah, told you I had a surprise for you gents," he says with a grin and a toss of his hair. "Our Percival should be here in a few minutes."

"You're kidding!"

At that moment, the man himself walks through the door to the pub and looks around. He seems nervous, shy almost, but just as large and imposing a figure as ever. As he approaches their table, his entire demeanor relaxes and he shows them a wide grin.

"Never thought I'd see any of you again," he says, grabbing the chair that Gavin kicks away from the table for him. "Never would have guessed you were _real_ , till Gwaine here showed up."

"Same," says Lanzo. "God, this is amazing. You're all here."

"We're only missing two, now," says Arthur, and the others sober.

"Leon," says Percival. He frowns a little. "Elyan?"

"No, he's in London with Gwen."

"I can't think of any other knights."

"He means Merlin," says Gwaine, and Lancelot smiles.

"Yeah, he did go on all the adventures with us, didn't he?"

"Had a few of his own without us, I'd imagine," says Arthur. The others laugh, except Lanzo, who tips his head thoughtfully.

"You knew," he says, as the others fall quiet. "He finally told you."

"Not till the very end, but yes. Wait." Arthur narrows his eyes. "You mean _you_ knew?"

Lancelot holds up his hand. "I found out by accident. As far as I know, he never deliberately told anyone." Then he laughs and shakes his head. "I'm talking about something that happened before I was born."

"I still can't get over the idea that the dreams are real," says Percival, and they all nod. "Knew what?"

Lancelot licks his lip and glances toward Arthur uncertainly. Still keeping the secret after all this time. "Merlin had magic," Arthur says quietly.

To their surprise, Percival only nods thoughtfully. "I'd wondered. Never had any proof, and he was a friend so I'd never have said anything, but… I'd wondered."

"Was I the only one to be completely oblivious?" grouses Arthur, and the others laugh.

"We were lucky bastards," says Gavin, "and we were always luckier with him there. I don't know why I didn't put two and two together before."

The others nod, and Lanzo lifts his drink. "To Merlin, wherever he is," he says, and the others clink their glasses or bottles against one another.

"Here's to still being a bunch of lucky bastards," said Percival, and they laugh and raise their drinks again.


	3. Chapter 3

The months go by, and the friends still meet and reminisce, but it's hard for Arthur. The Round Table were his knights, his closest, most trusted inner circle, and they met to determine the fate of their subjects, to plan wars or to prevent them, to bring peace. Gwen was his queen. Morgana was lost to him. Now, they get together to talk about the old days that none of them have lived in this life, and to drink beer or whiskey depending on each man's taste, and little else. Sometimes Gavin and Arthur will spar, when they meet up in Dublin. But Allen is trying not to involve himself, Gwen for the most part spends her time with Morgana, and Morgana of course avoids them all rather than rehash things that happened hundreds of years before they were ever born.

"Don't any of you feel as though we should be doing something _more?"_ Arthur asks one evening. It's a little gratifying that they all fall silent, still defer to him, even though in this life he's done nothing to earn it. Sometimes Gavin gives him a hard time over it, reminding him that he's not their prince, their king, anymore.

"I do," says Lanzo, "but what? The best I can do is keep my ear to the ground, for…"

"For whatever is coming," says Percival. Everyone else nods.

"Has anyone had any luck with locating Leon or Merlin?"

"All I have from the druids is that Merlin is alive," says Gavin. "And I've tried to meet with them more since that first meeting, but they either refuse to see me or just repeat the same things I've already heard."

"It's not his time to be found," says Lanzo. "What does that even mean?"

Arthur sighs. "Something to do with magic," is all he can offer. "Which makes me think that whatever is coming will have something to do with it, too."

"It's interesting that magic even still exists, when you think about it," says Allen. He's fiddling with his beer bottle, peeling the label off in little pieces and arranging them in a pile on the table. "I mean, when's the last time you heard anybody talk about that stuff outside of fiction?"

"Like it's all gone extinct," says Percival, and everyone nods again.

"I don't like that all they'll tell me is that he's alive and then they say 'poor thing', like it's a bad thing." Gavin tosses back his most recent shot and grimaces at the burn. "If we were there, maybe we could help with whatever he's going through."

Allen shrugs. "Supposing he doesn't want to be found."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"He might not remember," the other man points out. "Just because we do, it doesn't follow that he does."

"Or he might," suggests Lanzo.

"True. Fair point. Even your sister remembers," Allen says, tipping his head toward Arthur. "And Gwen. So it's not just men, and not just knights."

"It seems to be everyone that was closest to me in life," says Arthur, a little hesitantly. He doesn't want to make this about him.

"Then I'm surprised Merlin hasn't found _you_ first, by now," says Gavin. "He was closer to you than anyone, except maybe your wife, and given the way you two acted, I'd debate even that."

Percival smiles. "They were an old married couple sometimes, weren't they?"

That lightens Allen's somber expression. "Heh. Yeah, they were."

"Sitting right here," says Arthur, and they just laugh at him. "And we still don't know what's coming." That sobers them, even if Gavin does give him a bit of a dirty look.

"You do love to bring the mood down, don't you, Princess?" he asks with a glower.

"We all feel it," insists Arthur. "We've all talked about it. We all remember things from before we were born, from a past life so long ago that most people don't even believe those legends are anything other than fairy tales, or don't know how to separate fact from fiction even if they cared to. There has to be a reason for that. Why us? Why not anyone else? Why our legend, and no one else's? What's coming, and what can we do to prepare for it?"

"We don't even know if the thing that's coming is good or bad," points out Lanzo.

"Feels like a thunderstorm," remarks Percival, and they all turn to look at him. "Something powerful, yeah? But I dunno about good or bad. Destructive, maybe, but if the land is dry it's a needful thing. If you have shelter you can survive it just fine."

"So preparing should just mean, what, gathering our resources? We don't know what we're preparing _for_."

Percival shrugs. "So prepare for everything."

* * *

 

In the end, it's pure luck that brings them Leon. Allen is working in the jewelry shop when a customer comes in, just browsing. Allen barely looks up from his work when the bell chimes, engrossed as he is in getting an especially stubborn gem into an especially finicky setting.

Then the reddish hair registers, and he looks up again in shock.

"Can I help you?" he asks, speaking before the sales lady can even approach him.

"I was—" the man stops cold, staring at Allen, before he shakes himself and carries on. "Have… have we met?"

"I think we might have," says Allen, standing slowly, "a long time ago. Your name wouldn't happen to be Leon, by chance?"

Leon face lights up in an enormous grin. "No one has called me that for a long time," he replies, "but I'll take it. My God, Elyan, is it really you?"

Allen informs the sales lady that he's taking the rest of the afternoon off. In an instant, he and Leon are trading back slaps and hugs, and Leon is pulling out his cell phone to get Allen's phone number. They end up in a place just up the street that is known for its fish and chips, and Leon insists on buying the first pint for them both.

"I'll give you my number, if you give me yours as well," says Allen. "My God! Arthur will be ecstatic."

At this, Leon actually freezes. "Arthur. He's returned?" The poor man suddenly looks devastated.

"Returned—yeah, I guess you could say that. Reborn might be better. We all have."

"Born…?"

"Well, yeah. What else would it be?"

Leon blinks. "You…" He looks round, lowers his voice, and leans in. "You died before him, so I guess you wouldn't know. Merlin brought Arthur to Avalon when he died. The legends… the stories were that he would _rise_ from Avalon, when Albion's need was greatest."

"Well, we don't know about Albion's need, but Arthur was born and grew up just like the rest of us, except for the dreams."

"Dreams."

Allen frowns. "We started having dreams that were really memories, most of us in our teens, some of us earlier than that. Gwen remembers. Morgana is here, she remembers and wants nothing to do with the rest of us. The knights Arthur picked for the Round Table." He looks Leon up and down and frowns again. Where the rest of them are in their early- to mid-twenties, Leon looks a little older. But then, he always did. "Why? Was it different for you?"

Leon swallows, then offers a weak smile. "After all these years, your memories are probably sharper than mine. I'm… mine aren't dreams." He searches Allen's face, for what, Allen can't guess. "I never died," he says finally, and Allen feels the blood drain from his face.

"What?"

"I don't understand it either. The only thing I can think of is… after the dragon attacked Camelot, I was badly injured. Nearly died. The druids found me, and they _did_ something, I don't remember what. But it healed me, and after that… well, let's just say I got out of a lot more scrapes than I probably should have. Survived things I maybe shouldn't've."

"My God." Allen's mouth is actually dry, metallic-tasting with shock.

"Yeah. And then after everything, after Camlann, I just… never got any older. Or I should say, my body didn't age. I've gotten plenty older, I'm sure."

Allen can hardly breathe, for just a moment, as he takes that in. It's incredible, impossible, and yet.

"Arthur's been looking for you," he says, after he gets his breath back. "You and Merlin."

"I can't believe Arthur is alive again. If he's back, if he's really returned…" Leon shakes his head. "Merlin will be crushed that he missed it."

"Merlin! You've seen him? Is he back, too?" Allen pauses to take a breath, to look around the chip shop and ground himself in the here and now. "Apart from me and Gwen, and Arthur and Morgana, none of us knew each other at first. We've sort of stumbled together over the past couple of years. Gwen found Lancelot, and they're dating. Well. Engaged, now, I think, although my sister is trying to keep it secret until she's actually wearing his ring. And Gwaine found Percival while he was traveling. I never expected to find anyone, much less you. I've been… keeping my head down, I suppose you could say. Enjoying the peaceful life rather than what I remember from my dreams."

"That's fair," says Leon. "It was a hard life. Short, for most of us. God, Arthur died before he was thirty. We were all so young. It was brutal, what happened to everyone."

"Morgana says the same thing," says Allen. "Or at least, that's what I hear from Gwen."

Leon sighs. "She's not wrong."

They eat a few bites in silence before Allen tries again. "Did you want to see him? Arthur?"

"I do," says Leon. "But… not quite yet, I think. This is something of a shock. I need to wrap my head around it, if that's all right."

"I'll still tell him I've found you. Or that you found me."

Leon nods. "I'd like that."

"But you mentioned Merlin," presses Allen. "Arthur doesn't talk about him much even around the rest of us, but anyone can see he misses him. Have you seen him?"

"I… yes," says Leon. His expression looks uncomfortable, and Allen can't think why. "Not for a long time, though. We keep in touch."

"A long time?"

"It's been a few years since I saw him last."

Allen gets the feeling that there's something Leon isn't saying, but he lets it go for now. "And he's well? Everything going all right for him?"

"As far as I know," Leon hedges. "We don't talk often, I'm afraid."

"Arthur has been looking for you both," says Allen. "Gavin—that's Sir Gwaine, now—he actually found some druids still living, in Ireland." Leon actually looks alarmed at this, and again, Allen can't puzzle out why that should be. "All they would tell us was that Merlin was alive. They never hinted at anything like this."

Leon nods. "It's been hard for him, I think. Remembering," he says. "He blames himself for Arthur's death, you see."

"Arthur says it was Mordred who did for him, at Camlann. How could that be Merlin's fault?" Then something of Leon's phrasing catches his attention. "Wait. 'Blames'? As in, still?"

Leon actually grimaces at that. "He doesn't like to talk about it. I probably shouldn't have brought it up."

"Oi, mate, you can't just drop something like that!"

"Well, I'm going to," says Leon, and there's an edge to his voice that Allen hasn't heard anywhere outside of his dreams. He likes his peaceful life, very much, thank you, and this is part of why. "Look," Leon goes on. "Go ahead and tell Arthur about me. You can even give me his number, and I'll try to call him within the next couple of weeks. But Merlin—he's well out of it, yeah?"

"You don't think he has a right to know the others are alive?" asks Allen. "We all miss him. He was a friend to us all, not just Arthur; had a kind word for every one of us. We'd do anything for him."

"Like I said, it's been some time since we last spoke. If I hear from him again, I promise I'll pass on the word, but I can't make any guarantees he'll drop everything and come running, just on Arthur's say-so. Those days are long past."

"Arthur knows that! And you do him a disservice if you think he'd still try to order any of us about, or that he'd want Merlin to just be his lackey again after all this time."

Leon pauses, and looks at his plate. Pushes a few bits of food around. "No, you're right, of course," he says finally. "I just… want to protect him. Still. After all this time."

"We all wanted that," says Allen. "Merlin was… for me he was what was _good_ in Camelot. Having him around reminded me of what I was fighting for, when things got ugly. When I questioned why I was there in the first place, why I'd even let Arthur knight me, there'd be Merlin, and I'd find the strength to go on. He was a better friend to us than we maybe deserved. I dunno about the rest of the lads, but I wouldn't mind having the opportunity to repay that kindness."

At that, Leon smiles, and it might be a bit sad and wistful, but it's genuine, and that's all Allen can really hope for. "I'll tell him. If I see him again."

* * *

 

Later that night, there are two phone calls.

The first: "Arthur? It's Allen. Elyan. Listen, you're not going to believe this…"

The second: "Hello, Merlin. Long time. Yeah. Heh. Yeah, me too. Um, listen, I hate to skip the small talk, but… Oh! No, no, nothing like that. I'm fine, I promise. Only, I have news, but I'm not sure how you're going to take it.

"Arthur's alive."

* * *

 

It takes another month before Leon is willing to meet with Arthur, a month of frequent phone calls and emails and plans to meet that fall through at the last minute. Arthur finally calls Leon out for avoiding him, and Leon must still respect Arthur even in this life, because he sucks it up and they get together for a walk in the park not long after.

"I'm sorry, sire—"

"You don't have to call me that," says Arthur quickly. "I don't—I know who I remember being, but that was another lifetime for me, literally. I'm no one's king now. I'm not even anyone's prince. My father doesn't remember, as far as I know."

"What do you do, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I manage an arm of my father's business, and try to do a little diplomacy and relief work in Africa where our clients and suppliers live. But that's not the same as ruling anything, and it's not even here in Britain. It's as close as you can get to being a feudal king without having any political pull, I guess, but… I've thought about running for office, and it just doesn't appeal to me."

"But you do remember. Being king."

"As far as I know, I remember all of that life. Always have. God, by the time I was eight I knew what it was like to lead strategy sessions, and had to balance that with tolerating schoolteachers and other… adults. When in my head, I was one, too."

"I can't imagine that was easy for you, s—Arthur."

Arthur shrugs, because what else can he do? "I dealt with it. It was… I suppose I can admit to a certain loneliness, until I met everyone else. Or, almost everyone."

"You're… you _feel_ like I remember, if that makes sense."

"Allen told me that you…" he looks over his shoulder, then runs a hand through his hair, feeling silly. There is no one to overhear them but the nearby ducks and geese in the park's pond. "…that you never actually died. That you've been here all along?"

"That's right."

"I can't imagine. I thought _I_ was lonely, growing up. To have been here, while everyone you knew faded away with time…" Arthur shakes his head. "I almost want to ask about the fall of Camelot, but I'm even more sure that I don't want to know. That it would hurt too much to hear about."

"I understand. Though to be fair, I couldn't tell you much. Once I realized that everyone around me was aging and I wasn't, I decided it was safest if I left. Whether Camelot fell quickly or slowly, whether she was conquered or simply faded with time, I honestly couldn't say. You'd have to ask—"

Arthur waits, but Leon doesn't finish the sentence. "I'd have to ask…?"

"No one. Never mind."

Arthur sighs. "Allen told me that you know Merlin. And he said you mentioned that he remembers, too."

"Something like that."

"When did you last talk with him?" Arthur asks. "Where is he now? I'd love to find him again, catch up. If nothing else, let him know he's not the only one who remembers those times."

"He knows, si—Arthur. I told him, after I talked with Elyan. With Allen, I mean."

Arthur stops, there on the path, and turns to look Leon in the eye. "Allen said you hadn't been in touch in years."

"We hadn't. I don't like to bother him much."

"Why not?"

Leon sighs, and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets as they both resume walking. "I remind him of Camelot, Arthur. I remind him of you. And that hurts him, sometimes more than being alone hurts him. It's best for him if we're only in contact when he wants it, rather than every time I want to pester him about something."

"Allen said he still blames himself for my death, but that doesn't make any sense. I'm not dead anymore!"

"I know."

"And?"

"And it's not my story to tell. I can tell you he's having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that you're alive."

God. Arthur resists the urge to pull at his hair with both hands. He can't tell Leon how much he misses Merlin—his first true friend, the one who brought him his knights, who helped shape him into the person he became in that life. The one he—

(No. He doesn't admit that, even to himself, because it hurts too much.)

—the one he misses above all the others. He has a father and mother, he grew up with friends, he wasn't made lonely by the demands of his station, and yet the memories always set him apart from the people he cared about. He was closer to the people in his head than he was to the people around him, and closest of all was Merlin.

"I'm not sure I can deal with the notion that he wouldn't want to see me," he says finally.

"It's not necessarily about you, Arthur," says Leon, with a bit of an edge to his voice.

"No. I know that. I just… my entire life I've had memories of my past, childhood to adult, all of it. I remember when I _died_ , Leon. And no one else was there except for Merlin. I… What we shared. It goes so far beyond an ordinary friendship. And now you tell me he's hurting, and I want to be there. I want to be there for him the way he's been there for me. There were times when the memory of our friendship _then_ got me through some really difficult times in the here and now _._ And now you're making it sound like maybe he needs me and won't admit it, and I need to be there for him." Arthur stops, takes a deep breath to pull himself back from the emotional display. All this is more than he's told Gwaine or any of the others, although he suspects they have guessed by now. "I just… I can't command you to do anything, Leon. I know that. But I'm asking you, in the name of the bond we once shared, to _please_ tell me what you can about Merlin. Where I could find him."

Leon doesn't answer at first, just starts to walk again. At first Arthur thinks he's walking away, but Arthur catches up to him and he doesn't try to escape.

"I'm not going behind his back," Leon says finally.

"I wouldn't ask you to."

"In our last conversation, he said he'd be traveling. I'll call him in a few weeks when he gets to his destination. See if I can't pull that out of him. It… I won't say he doesn't want to see you, because I doubt that's true. But it'll be hard for him to face you."

"If it's because I died…"

"No. It's because—well, again. That's not my story to tell."

"I don't remember you being this frustrating in my first life," says Arthur, and Leon actually laughs. "But I do appreciate you sticking up for your friend. For our friend. He deserves that."

"That he does."


	4. Chapter 4

Morgana asks him to get together for lunch only a few days later.

"I told you once that I'd started having dreams again," she says quietly.

Arthur takes a closer look at her; under the makeup, he thinks he can see dark circles, and her eyes are red. "You've seen something?" he asks.

Morgana nods. "I still want no part of this," she says bitterly, "but it looks like I won't get a choice."

"I'm sorry."

Morgana, ordinarily so poised, rubs the bridge of her nose; for just a second, Arthur sees how tired she must really feel. "Don't. I know it's not your fault." She sighs, and visibly pulls herself together. "In my dream, I saw dragons," she says after a moment. "And gryphons, other magical creatures. And the Sidhe, the fairies… they saw _me_. I think that's what is coming."

"What, the fairies?"

Morgana shakes her head. "Magic. I think magic is going to come back to the world, Arthur. And I think you're going to need Merlin if you hope to survive."

Arthur feels the chill run down his back and suppresses it with an effort of will. "All we know is that he's alive, and he remembers us too," he says. "Leon hasn't been able to reach him yet to tell us where."

"Do you think it would help if he knew you needed him?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur admits. "All I have is what Leon said. That he's having a hard time dealing with my being alive."

Morgana nods. "He was with you at the end," she says. "I remember that. You were dying, and he was with you." She goes quiet for a second. "He said he blamed himself for what I had become."

"And then he killed you."

"I forgive him for that," she says simply, then rolls her eyes with a little smirk when he gapes at her. "Don't look so shocked, all right? I have to forgive him. It _wasn't this life_. None of what he did then has affected me in this life, and this one is the only one I want to pay attention to. I've told you before. If we're supposed to learn lessons from our past, if that's what reincarnation is _for_ , then I don't want to go back to being that person. You don't know the rage I felt, even though you experienced some of it. And, and madness, and fear. I don't want anything to do with it. If I hang onto a grudge in this life, because someone did something to that past version of me, then I'll never be free of it. I don't forgive him because he deserves it, or because he's secretly a sweetheart, or even because I know you care about him. I forgive him because _I_ can't survive if I hang onto that old baggage."

"I understand," says Arthur, and he thinks he does. Of all of them, Morgana has the most to lose if she allows her old life to influence who she has become in this one. "But… like you said. What if you don't get a choice but to be involved in what's coming?"

"I refuse to believe in fate," she says heatedly. "It screwed me over last time, being supposedly destined to play the villain in your story. I want to live _my_ story. If I get involved in this mess, it'll be on my terms or not at all."

"I understand," he says again. "And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

She sighs, and lets her eyes fall closed. "Thank you. And… it wasn't your fault. You were pulled this way and that by so many factors, yourself. Destiny. Fate. Uther's expectations. I'm surprised you want anything to do with whatever is coming."

"I don't feel like I'll have a choice, either," he says slowly, feeling his way around the words. "But I don't… I'm not letting that drive me. I'm selfish. I just want my friends and my family back, the people I remember and that I loved when I was alive back then. The knights. Gwen. You." He takes a breath and lets himself admit it. "Merlin." He bites his lip, but when Morgana doesn't interrupt him, he continues. "My entire life, I've had the memories of these amazing people surrounding me, and I want them in my life as more than figments. Whatever comes, we'll deal with it. But I do feel like we'll deal with it better if we're together."

* * *

 

"Morocco," says Gwaine, a few weeks later. It's shading into fall, and the British Isles are wet with it as they always are. The evening rain outside seems to draw a curtain between Arthur and his Round Table, and the rest of the world. Here, it's only them, and the candle on their pub table seems to be the only illumination in the entire room.

"That's what Leon says," shrugs Arthur.

"Do you want anyone to come with you?" asks Lancelot. It's a bit gratifying that they all accept without question that Arthur will be going after Merlin.

"No," he says. "No, I think I need to do this alone."

"Might spook him if there are too many of us," says Percival, and they all nod. He's still a man of few words in this life, but when he does speak, everyone listens.

"If you do find him," says Gwaine, "I wouldn't try to pressure him. Don't tell him we need him because of what's coming. The druids were pretty clear that that would be a bad idea."

Arthur nods again, and reaches for his beer. Now that the moment is upon him, he feels nervous, but there's an edge to it like the nerves before a tournament, or a hunt. He'll face his quarry, track it to its lair if he must, and then it will be a matter of will versus will to see which of them wins.

The victor will be Arthur, because it has to be. Not having Merlin back in his life in some fashion is insupportable.

"I'll figure out what to tell him once I see him, I suppose," he says.

They all toast to his good luck, and then turn the talk to other things, mainly speculation on what might be coming. They can all feel it, and the sense of urgency is only growing. Lanzo has been keeping an eye on crime reports, but he's not placed very highly in the police force just yet. Gavin has an entire network of contacts that he's built up in his travels, oddballs and misfits and people with a toe in organized crime, and who knows what all else, while Percival has taken over the task of keeping in touch with the druids and a handful of other magical people. Allen reluctantly keeps an ear to the ground among his business contacts and suppliers, but even he admits that he's unlikely to give them much information. He still insists that it was pure luck that he ran into Leon, after all.

Leon has met up with Elyan once or twice, and exchanged emails with Gwaine and Percival. He and Arthur get together whenever Leon is in town, but he still seems skittish about meeting up for some reason, so they spend a lot more time talking on the phone than anything else. Lancelot and Leon have yet to meet, but Lancelot is a fairly patient man and he and Leon were never quite as close as, say, he and Percival. Lanzo says he can afford to wait, and Leon seems to appreciate that.

"So when are you flying out?" Lancelot asks.

"I just bought my ticket this morning," admits Arthur. "Heading out this weekend. One-way. I've set up some remote work to do for the company, so they're paying for my stay."

Gwaine leans back in his seat. "And how long do you think you'll be gone?"

Arthur toys with his mug, slicking the condensation with his fingertips. "Indefinitely," he says after a moment. "Either I find Merlin or I don't, but I'm not going to just putter about for a long weekend and then give up and call it quits."

"If he doesn't want to be found," starts Percival.

"I know." Merlin has magic, or at least he did. The druids know of him, so it's likely he does again in this life as well. If he could hide his tracks in the forest, disappearing in a city should be child's play for him. "I'm trying not to think about that."

"Leon's been in touch with him, though, yeah?" asks Gwaine. "He'll know you're coming."

"I'm hoping he won't run. The fact that he's told Leon even this much is a start. I'm treating it like a… cautious invitation."

* * *

 

Morocco is beautiful, hot, mountainous, and not quite as much of a desert as Arthur had expected from the travel brochures. The country sits on the "corner" of Africa, bordering the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea on one side, and the Sahara Desert on the other. In its history it's been influenced by Berber, Arabian, and European cultures, and the resulting mix of food, languages, music, and architecture is, to Arthur, absolutely stunning. Arthur thinks he could grow to love it here, if he weren't so preoccupied already with finding Merlin and convincing him to come home.

What if Merlin doesn't want to come home, though? What if he doesn't want anything to do with Arthur? Morgana wants to avoid every aspect of her old life, running from memories that are too painful for her, and struggling not to become the person that she had been back then. Merlin… if he'd grown up just as lonely as Arthur had, plagued by memories of people he couldn't find, blaming himself for their loss… maybe he would want to avoid a reunion, too.

Arthur isn't sure what he will do if that is the case. His dream memories include a youth spent without Merlin and the ten years he'd had with, and his present day includes a life spent missing the closest friend he'd ever had. The only person from his past life who had ever been completely unafraid of his rank, willing to tell him when he was being an ass, but also absolutely in his corner when he needed the encouragement. The first person to see Arthur for himself, flaws and all, and strip away the trappings to get to the man underneath. Arthur is different in this life, or at least he likes to think so, not nearly so fixated on rank and station, but he knows he still needs someone who can see past the trappings of wealth and keep him from growing arrogant.

Or lonely, again.

The truth is, Arthur misses that friendship, which had run so much deeper than even his relationship with Gwen had gone, and while he may not ever admit it out loud, to his knights or anyone else, he is willing to do damn near anything to have it back. He'd give up his place in his father's business if he had to, if it meant he could have Merlin.

He isn't sure he fancies men, but at the same time, he knows what he feels for this one. Words like "love" and "forever" flit across his mind, gone before he can make himself admit them consciously, but he knows damn well they are there.

* * *

 

The company hires a guide for him in the capital city of Rabat, an unassuming older man named Khalid, who promises that he knows Morocco like the back of his hand and can take Arthur anywhere he wants to go. A text from Leon gives Arthur the name of a small town in the mountains, about two hours outside of Rabat, so they go there first. It's strange; Arthur finds he cannot keep the name of the town in his head for more than a minute or so at a time. He's written it down several times, and it's on the map that Khalid has drawn for him, but it simply won't stay in his memory. Arthur suspects that Merlin is trying to protect himself from people searching for him. He's wondered whether the Merlin of this life might have magic, given that the druids know about him; this seems to be proof that he does.

According to Leon, Merlin is working as a doctor in the migrant community, and will probably be using a different name, but Leon doesn't know what it is. Arthur is hoping that in a small town, finding the doctors will be easy, even without a name.

Khalid fills the drive with chatter about the land, its history, various landmarks, and stories that mostly seem to have happened to his cousins. He has a lot of cousins, it would seem. Some of the landmarks he points out seem to have less historical significance than they do sentimental value, given the tales Arthur hears of the cousin "who met his fiancee under the branches of that very tree" or the other cousin, Habib, "but not the older Habib who I've already told you about" whose house used to be in the village they just passed, before he took ill and died, "before you were born, probably, sir, rest his soul," and so on. He comments on everything, from the weather to the dustiness of the road, and it should be irritating but instead Arthur finds it soothing. It reminds him of Merlin, somehow, and he can't help but say so, when Khalid lets him get a word in edgewise.

"That is very kind of you to say, sir," says Khalid. "Only, I thought you were looking for your friend, the doctor, whom you had not seen in some time?"

"That's right."

"You should tell me about him, sir, if it pleases you. I would know how I remind you of him."

 _He wasn't afraid of me_ , Arthur thinks but does not say. "He loved to talk," he says instead. "Just like you. And it seemed that he knew everybody." He certainly brought Arthur gossip from all quarters, to be sure. "I tended to be too quiet, sometimes. He could always draw me out, when I needed that."

Khalid smiles and turns back to the road. "There is a little waterway just ahead, sir, a _qanat_ , where we would stop to water the camels—if we were taking camels instead of this Jeep! My cousins would gather there sometimes…"

And on they go.

* * *

 

They make good time, even though the mountain switchbacks make Arthur a little motion sick, and they reach the small town on schedule. The place is not large, and it is a matter of minutes to find directions to the local migrant clinic. Apparently war and other disasters throughout Africa have forced some people on the move in recent years, to try and find work elsewhere or to escape to Europe, but thanks to strong border restrictions, many of them found Morocco to be their unexpected final destination. In recent years, there had been violence and discrimination against the fleeing refugees and migrant workers, but for the most part that had settled down. Doctors Without Borders had had three clinics in Morocco, but eventually shut them all down as the government established better care and programs for the people who needed them.

Arthur can absolutely see Merlin as the sort of person who would work for Doctors Without Borders. He'd been Gaius's apprentice, in his previous life; maybe becoming a doctor in this one had been the way he'd allowed his memories to influence him, in the same way that Lanzo had become a police officer and Morgana a court advocate on behalf of abused or abandoned children. And the Merlin of Arthur's memories had had a kind heart and a kind word for everyone he met.

At least, that's what Arthur remembers. He isn't quite the same person as he'd been back then, and neither are any of his knights or Morgana. So it's more than possible that this Merlin will be different as well. Arthur can only hope that the differences won't be so great as to impede their friendship.

 _God_ , he misses Merlin. A man he's never even met in this life, and he finds himself pining for him some days, as if they had ever been lovers.

Khalid introduces him to the head of the clinic; probably it's another cousin of his, given their easy familiarity. "Can I help you?" asks the doctor.

"I am looking for a friend of mine," Arthur explains. "I haven't seen him in… a long time. My understanding was that he worked for your clinic."

"I will try to help you, if I can. What is his name? What does he look like?"

"Oh. He was, uh, a little taller than me, but not by much. His ears stuck out a little. Black hair. Blue eyes."

"White?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your friend, with the blue eyes; is he a white man?"

"He—yes."

The doctor shakes his head regretfully. "I am sorry. We have no white doctors working for us here. You may wish to try the clinic in the next town over."

For a moment, Arthur can hardly breathe. He's blinking rapidly, hadn't realized just how much hope he'd put into this meeting. "Oh," he says when he gets his breath back. "I… I see. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

The doctor looks at him with a detached sort of concern. "Are you feeling well? Do you need to rest?"

"I'll rest at my hotel," says Arthur faintly. "Thank you."

"It is no trouble," says the doctor. "Good luck to you on your search."

"Yes, of course."

"There is no other clinic for the migrant workers?" asks Khalid.

"Well… no other clinic, no. But now that you mention it, there is another doctor. He is not affiliated with us," he says with a little sniff of disdain. "He works in the streets, visits the migrants in their homes or shelters. I cannot remember if he is white or not, though."

Arthur has turned around and is listening intently. "Where might we find him?"

The doctor shrugs. "He could be anywhere. Try the soup kitchen. If he is not there at mealtime, perhaps the people can tell you where they saw him last."

Arthur trades a glance with Khalid, who nods. " _Shukraan,"_ says the older man. "This is very helpful."

"Yes, thank you," Arthur adds.

"Good luck," says the doctor.

"Your friend," says Khalid, as they are climbing back into the Jeep. "You never gave his name."

Strange; he must have forgotten. "Merlin," says Arthur. "When I knew him, he went by Merlin."

He closes his eyes for a moment against the glare and dry air, and misses the way Khalid looks up at him sharply before turning his gaze back to the road.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin is not at the soup kitchen, but people there are sure they saw him earlier that day at a patient's house, tending to a sick child. "Dr. Hawke", they call him. Arthur has to smile. A merlin is a type of falcon, after all.

At the home of the sick child, there is no sign of Merlin, but they tell Khalid that he said he was going to visit a few other homes in the neighborhood before retiring for the night. Khalid and Arthur share a look, and Arthur tightens the laces on his hiking boots.

It takes over an hour to go from one house to the next, following the directions of each person. Everyone in this neighborhood knows everyone else, it seems, so getting directions from one place to another is not difficult; all the same, Arthur is beginning to feel as though they are being led on a wild goose chase. At the third home in the neighborhood, Arthur learns that "Dr. Hawke" was invited to stay for dinner and had only just left. It is getting dark outside, the moon just rising over the mountains at the town's edge.

"Do you know where he was going after this?" asks Arthur, with Khalid translating. The toothless old woman would be difficult for Arthur to understand even if he spoke Arabic, he suspects.

"She says that she does not know where Dr. Hawke sleeps," says Khalid. "But I know of a few places where he might stay, if he does not have a home of his own here."

"Why wouldn't he?" asks Arthur. With a name, he might be able to look up an address, assuming this town has anything like a phone directory.

"He travels from place to place," says Khalid. "He doesn't stay anywhere long, according to the people we have spoken to. He would want a place to sleep that he could leave behind easily, when it is time to move on."

Arthur nods. As a traveling doctor, it would make sense for Merlin to take up residence in a boarding house or hotel rather than buying a house or renting an apartment everywhere he went. Unfortunately, that means that if Merlin does decide to leave town, Arthur will likely never find him again.

"All right," he says. "Take me to the nearest place you can think of, here in town."

Khalid nods, but this time Arthur doesn't miss the way the older man studies him as they walk back to the Jeep. "What will you do if you find this man?" he asks, and something in his tone gives Arthur pause.

"Invite him back into my life," he says after a moment. "When we knew each other, he was my closest friend. I trusted him above anyone else—" He laughs at a sudden memory. "And when I didn't, I was always proven wrong. I miss him a great deal. I just…" He shakes his head, unable to articulate the enormity of what he's feeling.

"You do not wish him near for his usefulness to you?" asks Khalid, and Arthur frowns.

"No. What kind of question is that?"

Khalid doesn't answer, only studies his face in the dim light coming from the interior of the Jeep. Finally he turns away and starts the engine.

"Khalid?"

Khalid still says nothing, only presses on the gas pedal so that Arthur is forced to grab the Jeep's frame to keep from lurching backward in his seat.

"Khalid!"

"Forgive me, sir. We will be there in a few moments. Perhaps you should have one of the water bottles, beneath your seat."

They are in Morocco, in a Jeep, at the edge of twilight, and Arthur finds himself fervently wishing he had a sword on him in order to feel safe. Something is definitely up with Khalid, but Arthur has no idea what it could be. If they were back in Camelot, he'd think that Khalid knew something he wasn't saying.

Actually, no, here in the 21st century, Arthur is still pretty sure that Khalid knows something he's not saying. If it turns out that he's known all along where Merlin has been hiding, Arthur's not sure what he'll do.

* * *

 

"A few moments" turns into about a twenty-minute drive to the other side of town and out into the countryside, climbing up a mountain in low gear. The roads are steep enough that Arthur finds himself leaning forward as if he were on a horse, listening to the engine strain. There are few lights, mostly hidden behind the windows of the little houses they pass along the way, and the stars seem very close.

Finally Khalid pulls the Jeep to a stop in front of a stucco building, two or three stories high, its pale yellow walls and blue trim only visible in the glow from their headlights for a second before Khalid kills the engine. Around them, the sudden silence seems huge and absolute.

"Come with me," says Khalid. He no longer seems quite so willing to talk about his cousins, Arthur thinks. He spares a thought to wondering if they even exist.

They step into a tiled courtyard lit by candle lanterns here and there, with a fountain splashing cheerfully in the center and surrounded by palm saplings that reach to the first story. Baskets filled with flowers hang from the tiny, wrought-iron balconies overhead, and their scent fills the air, heady and sweet. The moisture in the air feels like a balm after the dust of the lower town. Crickets chirp to break the silence, scattered in the perimeter of the courtyard.

"It's beautiful," says Arthur. It's enchanting.

"He likes it here," says Khalid, and Arthur's suspicions are confirmed.

"So you did know who I was looking for."

Khalid doesn't answer for a long moment, and Arthur thinks he's going to dodge the question, but finally he says, "Not at first. Only after you told me his name was I certain. I protect him. Or you could say we protect each other," and Arthur feels a surge of jealousy that he quickly suppresses. "He deserves to be protected. He saved my life once, long ago."

Merlin can't be older than Arthur, unless… no. Oh, please no, not Merlin. His budding anger evaporates as he asks, "How long ago?"

Khalid smiles wryly, his teeth glinting in the candlelight. "About three hundred years."

Arthur's face falls, and he thinks he can actually feel the blood draining from his face. "He's been alive all that time?" Never mind that Khalid is much older than he appears. It's awful to think that Merlin might be as immortal as Leon.

"I will let him tell you that. Wait here," says Khalid. "Do you wish for coffee?"

And Arthur wants very much to say no to that, wants to demand that this sneaky old man take him to his friend, but he's learned a bit about hospitality and Moroccan culture, so instead he sighs and looks for a place to sit. There are tiny little tables and wrought iron chairs scattered between here and the main door to the building, and he picks one under a candle lantern, with a view to both exits. A palm sapling obscures his sight a little, but it's the best position from which to watch for Merlin.

"Are you sure he'll come down?" he can't help but ask.

"No," replies Khalid. "But I will try, for you." And he goes inside, the blue door spilling inviting golden light before it clicks shut behind him.

A moment later, the door opens again and an old woman comes out with a tray and coffee service; she doesn't smile, but she does shuffle over when she spots him. The copper ewer gleams in the candlelight, and the cups look almost too delicate to drink from. There is a bowl of sugar with a copper spoon, and a tiny pitcher of cream to complete the set. The smell is heavenly, and Arthur is reminded that he hasn't eaten since lunch.

"Thank you," he says as she pours. "Uh, _shukraan_."

She answers him in a gabble of Arabic, too fast for him to follow, and goes back inside. She leaves the tray, though.

Arthur allows the smell and taste of really excellent coffee to settle his nerves as he waits. What is Khalid saying to Merlin? Will Merlin want to see him? Leon had implied that he might not. Has Arthur come all this way for nothing?

He sighs and inhales the aroma of his coffee before taking another sip. Around him, the sound of crickets and the splashing of the fountain fills the air. It's hard not to relax by the light of the candles.

Arthur never sees the door open, but after several minutes, someone very nearby says, "It's really you. You really came."

And Arthur has never heard that voice before in his life—in _this_ life, rather—but he knows it as well as he knows his own. He stands, the wrought iron of his chair scraping against the tile. "Merlin."

"I haven't gone by that name in a long time," says the other man. Tall, lean, with dark hair and pale skin that glows in the candlelight. He has a scruff of beard that Arthur doesn't remember seeing in his first life's memories. "People call me Dr. Ambrose Hawke, nowadays."

"Ambrose… from 'Ambrosius'?" Arthur's done his homework, how could he not have, read all the Arthurian legends he could get his hands on. Myrddin Ambrosius was one of the names given to Arthur's sorcerous advisor; the name means "immortal", and Arthur thinks that's another clue.

"Yeah," says Merlin. He ducks his head, and in the dark it's impossible to tell, but he might be blushing. Or he might not, Arthur supposes.

"Clever," he says. "Um. Coffee?"

Merlin shakes his head, but he does at least pull out the other chair and sit at the tiny table. Arthur does the same. "Why did you come, Arthur?" His voice sounds so even and calm; Arthur wishes he felt half as serene.

"I came for you," he begins, but Merlin—Ambrose—holds up a hand.

"I mean, why did you come back? I waited for you for so long, and now here you are…" He trails off and pinches the bridge of his nose, and Arthur notes the faintest tremor in his long fingers. He takes a deep breath and releases it in a harsh sigh. "Why did you come back from the dead?"

"I don't know," admits Arthur. "I only know that I've remembered that other life ever since I was a child. Practically since I was born."

"Born?" Ambrose leans forward in his seat. "You were born?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, we all were. Until I met Leon, I thought we were all just enjoying a fantastic coincidence and proving reincarnation was real." He sighs and plays with his coffee cup. "I had no idea that it was possible to live the entire time from Camelot to now."

"Oh, it's possible," says Ambrose. He sounds more than a little bitter, and Arthur can't blame him. Then he tilts his head in curiosity, in a gesture Arthur has seen in his dreams more than once. "You said 'all'."

"My closest knights," admits Arthur. "Gwaine, Percival. Lancelot. Elyan. Gwen." He pauses. "Morgana. Though she wants nothing to do with any of this."

"With any of what?"

Arthur sighs. "Reincarnation, at least, according to the New Agers, is supposed to mean a chance to start over. Clean slate, a chance to learn new lessons or correct old mistakes. Morgana remembers who she was and who she became, and she wants nothing to do with that life. She doesn't like that the rest of us get together from time to time and reminisce. Compare stories, that sort of thing."

"I see." Ambrose falls silent; Arthur waits for him to speak, but he seems content to keep his thoughts to himself.

"We miss you, Merlin—Ambrose," he corrects himself. "We all of us remember you as a friend, and since we've reunited, we've all wanted to find you. Gwaine came closest, but all he got was a message from the druids saying that it wasn't your time to be found yet. And then we stumbled across Leon; literally, he walked into the jewelry shop were Allen—Elyan—works. He said he'd talk to you." He'd also said that it was best if he and Merlin weren't in contact too often, but Arthur decides to leave that part out. "He… did talk to you, didn't he?"

"Yeah. I wasn't sure if I wanted to see you, at first. Finally he talked me into at least sharing my address." Ambrose reaches out and traces a fingertip over the edge of one of the coffee cups. "I didn't think you'd actually come all this way."

"I get the feeling you'd rather I hadn't. That maybe you didn't want to see me, after all."

"It's not that," says Ambrose. "I…" He stops, sighs again. "I gave up, Arthur. There was a prophecy, which claimed that you would return when Albion's need was greatest. But then Camelot fell, Albion became England, England became part of the greater world… and you never came back. And I was promised a place by your side in this prophecy, but it was my curse or my, my punishment, or I don't know what—but the price for that place by your side was that I would be left alive to wait for your return. I waited for _centuries_ , Arthur. Over a millennium. I've lost _count_ of the years, and you never came back. Eventually I decided that the prophecies were lying. There had been no golden age during your lifetime, like they'd promised. There wouldn't be a return, either. So I gave up.

"And then Leon calls me up out of the blue one day, when we've promised to keep in touch only every five years, and says he's found you. I gave up on you, and lived another eighty, ninety years without you, moved on with my life or so I thought, and then here you were. I thought I'd finally finished grieving your death, finally let you go once and for all… and now, here you are.

"It wasn't that I didn't want to see you," Ambrose says quietly. His hands won't stop fidgeting with the sugar bowl, spooning up a little bit and then watching it pour back into the bowl, over and over. "But it hurts to have you here, after all this time. I feel like I failed you," he says, and Arthur is shaking his head immediately.

"You didn't," he says, his throat almost too tight to speak. He tries to imagine what it must have been like, trapped here in a holding pattern, unable to really move on, with all those years laid out before him and unable to really _live_ them, all because of some fucking prophecy, and tears come to his eyes. "You didn't, Merlin, my God. I never deserved that kind of faithfulness anyway. That—your loyalty—I never understood it and I never deserved it."

"You did," says Merlin. "You always—you did," he says, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say.

Arthur wants to reach across the table and still Merlin's fidgeting hands, but he's not sure the gesture would be welcome. "I may have grown up without you in this life, but maybe it was supposed to be that way. How could we have been friends when I was an eight-year-old and you were the same age as you've always been? I may not have had you, but I always had my dreams. Memories of you and the others, but mostly of you. And those memories, Merlin—Ambrose, sorry—those memories got me through some dark patches, now and again. Times I didn't know what to do, and I'd think of you, and listen for your advice, and always, always there would be a memory where you were wise and insightful. Or just silly and bumbling. But you cheered me up immensely, even if you weren't physically there."

A tear breaks loose from Merlin's eye and drips down his cheek, disappearing into his beard. "I'm so sorry I wasn't."

"No, don't," says Arthur. "I took you for granted in that life. In Camelot. I didn't know half of what you'd done for me until the very end, probably still don't. In this life, I've missed you, but I'm afraid that if you had been around, maybe I wouldn't have valued you as I should."

Merlin takes a shuddering, wet breath, and more tears slip free. "I feared you would hate me, after you found out about the magic," he said. "That you only forgave me because you were dying and wouldn't have to deal with me afterward."

"I don't think I could ever hate you," says Arthur. Propriety be damned, he thinks, and stands up. Merlin stares at him, but Arthur just steps around the tiny table and rests a hand on Merlin's head, and pulls him close.

"Oh God," Merlin says, and throws his arms around Arthur's waist and buries his face in Arthur's stomach. His shoulders shake with silent sobs, and Arthur feels a tear or two break free and slide down his own cheeks. He cards his fingers through Merlin's hair, and the other man nuzzles into him as if he's finally found home after too long wandering lost.


	6. Chapter 6

****"I have so many questions," says Arthur, after they've settled down and moved inside. The building is a boardinghouse, it seems, or else a really nice hotel. Ambrose's room is divided into a sleeping area and a sitting area, with a work desk and bookshelf in the latter. He's been here long enough to not be living out of his suitcase, Arthur thinks; there are books on the shelves in multiple languages, and a sleek laptop on the desk. Their coffee service from the courtyard is now on a sturdy, elegantly-carved oak table with matching chairs. The window is open onto the tiny wrought-iron balcony, letting the breeze in, scented from the flowers in the courtyard below. Khalid is there, pouring them all coffee and then taking himself out of the way. "How you and Khalid happened to meet three hundred years ago, just for starters."

"That's a story for another time," says Ambrose, "but he's exaggerating anyway. It was only about two hundred fifty."

" _You_ have lost count over the centuries, sir," says Khalid with a smile. "You have admitted as much to me yourself."

One corner of the other man's mouth curls up. "I suppose that's true enough." To Arthur he says, "Khalid is not his real name, any more than Ambrose is mine. It's Arabic for 'immortal'."

"Well, you go by 'Ambrosius'," says Arthur. "Even Leon said he hadn't been called that in a long time, when Allen first met him."

Ambrose just shrugs. "In the modern age, people keep better records. It's hard enough to just keep a bank account for a hundred years, never mind keeping the same name. I've got about fifteen that I cycle through."

"But not Merlin?"

"Not in a long, long time," he says. "Not since your first life."

"Why not?"

Ambrose sighs. "After I realized I wasn't aging, after Gaius died, I left Camelot and changed my name in case Gwen or anyone else wanted to come looking for me. I didn't want to be found. After that, it was just a reminder of painful memories, so I didn't come back to it, even when I started using other names."

"And now?"

The other man smiles, shyly. "Now you're back. You can call me whatever you like."

"I remember you as Merlin. Is that okay?'

His smile widens. "More than."

"I know you're a doctor here," says Arthur, "and I don't want to take you away from your life. You're not my servant, and I'm no one's king in this life. You shouldn't have to follow me around everywhere. But… can we at least… can I have your email? Could we Skype once in a while?"

Ambrose—Merlin—laughs. "There's nothing holding me here, really," he says. "I have my practice, but I never stay anywhere for very long. I've only been in Morocco for a month or two. I can find another practice in England. I mean, I assume you're in England."

"London, yeah. You're really a doctor?"

"Have been almost the entire time," says Merlin. "I was apprenticed to Gaius for ten years, after all. It seemed easiest to stick with what I knew while I waited."

Arthur winces. "And you only stopped waiting less than a hundred years ago?"

Merlin sighs. "You were supposed to return in the time of Albion's greatest need. World Wars I and II… so many people died in those conflicts, and there was still no sign of you… I couldn't do it anymore."

"I understand," says Arthur, and he does. He's not sure he'd have had the fortitude to wait for so long, if the option had been open to him. "Were you always immortal?"

"I'm not sure," says Merlin. "There are things that should have killed me and didn't, even in your first life. The dorocha come to mind," he adds with a shiver. "Do you remember them?"

"Not the most pleasant dreams I've had," says Arthur with a nod.

"It was said that no mortal could survive their touch, and yet I did."

"And I never thought to question it," says Arthur, shaking his head. "I was just too relieved to have you back." The clues must have been in front of him his entire life, that first time around, and he'd never allowed himself to see them.

"Before the battle at Camlann, Morgana took my magic," says Merlin. "And I went to a cave, said to be the wellspring, the birthplace of all magic, to get it back. While I was there, I… let's just say _things happened_ , and I learned that I needed to embrace my powers fully, and part of that was to realize that Morgana couldn't take away who I was. I don't _have_ magic, Arthur. In a very real way, I _am_ magic. And when I realized that, embraced my power, I think I embraced immortality, too. I'm pretty sure that's the day I stopped aging."

"And then I died and left you alone," says Arthur. "I'm so sorry for that."

Merlin shakes his head and closes his eyes tiredly. "It was destined," he says. "And one thing I have had to accept, with centuries to think about it, is that it's pretty much impossible to fuck with destiny. I tried. I tried _so hard_ , and in the end you died anyway."

They both sigh simultaneously, then smile at one another a little shyly. It's not a pleasant topic, and yet it's just so _good_ to have Merlin by his side again, however temporarily that might be.

"Will you keep in touch before you come back to England?" asks Arthur. "Or would you prefer to have some time to process things? You said it was hard for you to have me here. I don't want to make things worse just because I've missed you. It's not all about me."

Merlin tilts his head again. "You really have changed," he muses.

Arthur shrugs, a little uncomfortably. "Lived a different life, this time around," he suggests. "Not quite so privileged. As I said before, I'm no one's king. I wasn't brought up expecting the world to be handed to me on a platter, this time around."

"Do you think there's any reason that you've come back? Anything from your dreams, or anything in your world that suggests you might be needed?"

Arthur grimaces. He'd been hoping Merlin wouldn't be insightful enough to ask that question; Gavin had stressed to him the druids' message that Merlin wasn't to be coerced into coming back just because he was needed, or because Arthur had some agenda or plan to use him. "There might be. Not from my dreams," he says aloud, slowly. "But there's this sense I get sometimes, this… shapeless notion, I suppose, that something is coming. I don't know what. Morgana might have an idea, but she's trying her damnedest to stay out of the story and not get involved. I and the other knights just feel something like… like an impending thunderstorm. Something that's building on the horizon, that we can't see the shape of yet, but that's bearing down on us nevertheless."

Merlin nods solemnly, but doesn't say anything at first. His gaze is faraway, lost in thought, and Arthur doesn't want to interrupt. Instead he takes a sip of his coffee and glances at Khalid.

The older man ( _much_ older, apparently) looks troubled. He's watching Merlin's face with a frown on his own, and when he notices Arthur studying him, he shakes his head. "I think you are right," he says quietly. "Something is coming."

"But do any of us know what it is?"

Khalid shakes his head. "I only know that I will go with Dr. Hawke to keep him safe," he says.

"No…" Merlin's voice is as distant as his gaze. "No, Khalid, I think you will be needed here. If it's what we think it is."

"I thought you didn't know," says Arthur.

"I do not," Khalid retorts. "I only suspect. I am no Seer."

Arthur blinks. He hadn't considered that. "But you do have magic?" he asks.

"Only the magic that grants me long life, and some small ability to heal others, or to be where I am needed. I keep the healing to myself, for obvious reasons. This is not an age that accepts miracles readily."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "No, I suppose it isn't."

"You've already gathered your knights," says Merlin. "All of them? All the Round Table?"

"The only one I haven't seen yet is Mordred," says Arthur. "Everyone I was closest to is already there. And they all remember that first life. And like I may have mentioned, they all miss you, too."

"I haven't had that many friends at a time in ages," says Merlin. "It's been safer to keep people at a distance. But… it might be nice to see them again."

"That's all any of us want," says Arthur. "I mean… I don't want you to think we had some kind of agenda in tracking you down. We do get the feeling that something is coming, but like I said, it's vague. None of us knows what it might be. And in any case, if something _is_ coming, I have a feeling you'd have gotten involved whether we found you or not."

"I might have tried to avoid it, to be honest," says Merlin. "As I said: I gave up."

Arthur nods. "You're not obligated, even now," he offers, but Merlin is shaking his head.

"You're here," he says. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

Arthur has to look away to get his own emotions under control. God, he doesn't deserve this. What did he ever _do_ to deserve this? "You said you think you know what the something might be?" he asks. His voice is rough with unshed tears, but neither of the other men remark upon it.

"There's something I need to check in order to be certain," says Merlin, "but yeah. It's to do with magic."

"I grew up thinking there was no such thing," says Arthur. "I was a bit surprised when Gavin—that's Gwaine, sorry—when he found actual druids still living in this century. But I don't know how much magic even they have, to be honest."

"Not very much," says Merlin. "Magic has sort of gradually ebbed over the years, like the tide going out. Science and technology have taken over—and that's not necessarily a bad or a good thing, just something that is. But I have a strong suspicion that the tide is about to turn. I think magic might be about to come _back_."

* * *

 

Arthur spends the night in the boardinghouse, at Merlin's and Khalid's insistence, and enjoys a dinner cooked by the old woman who had brought him coffee earlier. Merlin seems uncomfortable, and Arthur doesn't want to push him, so he makes sure that they spend the rest of the night talking of nothing important. Catching up. Testing one another's familiarity, seeing how far they can go with their jokes… and how serious they can be with one another without it becoming too much.

 _God,_ it's good to see Merlin again, even if this is the first time he and Arthur have met in Arthur's life. Reincarnation; almost Arthur's entire circle of friends are people from a previous life, and he's still not sure he'll ever get used to the idea that rebirth is real.

He learns that Merlin hasn't always been a doctor, but that it's his fallback when he doesn't want to be anything else for a while. He's been a writer, a merchant, and more over the centuries, but according to him, he gets maudlin if he doesn't spend time around people. And helping them reminds him of the importance of kindness and connection, he says.

Arthur can understand that.

* * *

 

It's hard to let go of Merlin the next morning, when he packs his overnight bag and prepares to go back to Rabat. But he's found what he came for, and he's promised himself for the past several years that if he ever found Merlin, he wouldn't push. If Merlin needs time to come to terms with Arthur being alive, then Arthur will give it to him.

"Just don't forget that I'm not like you and Leon," he tries to joke, but he thinks it falls flat. "Don't wait fifteen, twenty years to come find me."

"I won't," Merlin promises.

They hug, and Merlin squeezes him so tightly that it feels like they're both trying to heal something inside them with the strength of their embrace. It positively _aches_ when Arthur has to let him go and leave the building, with Khalid leading the way to the Jeep, but he forces himself to do it. Arthur looks up and sees Merlin standing in the window, the shutters thrown open to the morning light. He waves; after a moment's hesitation, Merlin raises his hand, and then they are pulling away from the courtyard and Arthur's best friend disappears from view.

He shuts his eyes against the pain of it, and breathes as best he can from there all the way back to Rabat.

And from there, all the way through his flight back to London.


	7. Chapter 7

"You found him, then," says Lanzo, when he and Allen and Gwen pick him up at the airport.

"I did," says Arthur. The first words he's spoken in a few hours.

They're all silent for a minute, and Lanzo and Gwen both look slightly horrified by whatever they see in Arthur's expression. "Is everything okay?"

"I… yeah," says Arthur, but from the looks on everyone else's face, no one believes him. He can't blame them. "It was just—I didn't want to come home without him."

"Why did you?" asks Allen.

"He needed time. I promised myself I wouldn't push."

"Of course," says Gwen. "I'm sure he appreciates that."

"I hope so," agrees Arthur.

* * *

The next few weeks pass in a haze. Arthur feels like he's barely managing to accomplish anything at work. He can't get past the notion that he's finally found Merlin, only to be forced to let him go.

God, what if Merlin decides he's better off away from whatever is coming? What if Arthur pushed too hard (or seemed to; he'd tried not to, tried to make clear he only wanted his friend back, but still)? What if seeing Arthur just hurts too much, like Leon warned him it would?

"You look like hell, mate," says Gavin, the next time they get together.

"Sorry."

Gavin blinks, and looks him over again, a little more closely. "You're this broken up over Merlin, aren't you," he says, and it's not really a question. Arthur doesn't feel a need to answer, just continues staring at his drink like it might hold the secret of how to get his best friend back. "Did he say he wasn't coming?"

"No," Arthur admits. "But he could change his mind. There wouldn't be a damn thing I could do to stop him." One corner of his mouth turns up, but even he wouldn't really call it a smile. "Never could force him to do what I wanted."

"He'll come," says Gavin. "Just give him time."

"I am," says Arthur. It's not Merlin's fault the time is crawling by excruciatingly slowly. Something occurs to him at the thought, and he almost has to swallow bile. "God."

"What is it?"

"If this is what Merlin felt like, waiting for _me_ all those years, I don't know how it is he's still alive."

Gavin studies him for a moment longer, then claps him on the shoulder with one hand and shoves a shot of whiskey at him with the other. Arthur downs it in one go.

* * *

 

A month goes by, then two, and there is still no sign of Merlin. Winter lies heavy on London, all sleet and ice in the streets and miserable overcast skies with no sign of the sun for days on end. The weather suits Arthur's mood perfectly. Even getting together with the knights, with Gwen, with Morgana, fails to cheer him.

"You're being pathetic," says Morgana one evening, but there is no bite to her words. "You and he… were you really that close in your first life?"

"After you left," says Arthur, choosing to overlook her flinch, "he was closer to me than anyone else."

She pauses, then says quietly, "I'm sorry."

Arthur shrugs. "Not your fault."

"It could be," she retorts. "What if he's not coming back because of me?"

"I don't think that's what it is," he says. "I told him you didn't want to be involved in whatever is coming."

"And?"

"And, he said more than once that it was too painful to see me. That he had waited for me to come back, and that eventually he gave up." Arthur shakes his head. "I don't think he's going to come, and I don't blame him."

"And you're just going to let it go, just like that?" she scoffs. "That's not the Arthur I remember."

"I'm _not_ the Arthur you remember," he says simply. "I'm not the king of anything. I can't order him to come. I promised myself I wouldn't push him, promised _him_ I wouldn't push or force him to come if he didn't want to. So, that's that. Either he will or he won't."

Morgana sighs and rests her hand atop his. "You always were too self-sacrificing," she says. "But you're right. Merlin is like a cat. He will or he won't, and you can't really force him."

For the first time in two months, Arthur laughs a little. "That's Merlin, all right."

* * *

 

That night, he texts Leon. _Thanks for trying._

About a half hour later, he receives a reply. _I'm sorry._

* * *

 

It's New Year's Eve, and Arthur is celebrating with the Round Table, letting them work on taking his mind off things. Gwen and Lanzo are cuddling on the sofa beside him, and he's got his feet up on the table. Gavin is telling some ridiculous story about his adventures as a pilot, though he's laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. Even Percival is giggling like a fool, which is itself too hilarious to ignore.

Arthur's had a few shots and is beginning to relax, finally, and stop pining like a love-struck teenager for the first time in months. He did what he could, he thinks; made his case, left the decision to Merlin, and the best he can do now is get on with his life. It's New Year's, after all, a time for making resolutions, and Arthur resolves to be ready for whatever may come, whether it includes Merlin or not.

He's just settling back on the couch, listening to Gavin, when he hears the kitchen door open, and frowns a little. Craning his neck to see over the back of the couch, he sees Leon step into the living room. A cheer goes up when the others spot him.

"Look who it is!" yells Gavin. "About damn time you showed your ugly mug around here, mate." They've all been conversing for months, Arthur knows, sending emails back and forth and letting Leon come to them, but he's never met them all as a group before. It's only ever been one-on-one.

"Look who's calling who ugly," says Leon, his face relaxing into an easy grin. He hefts a full bottle of wine and shows it to them. "Where should I put this?"

"By the kitchen sink is fine," says Allen, since it's his house. Leon disappears for a second, then reappears.

"And what about this?" he asks, and gives a little step sideways. His arm is around someone's neck, and as he gives a little tug, Ambrose Hawke stumbles into the doorway by his side, looking awkward and maybe even a little scared to be there.

The room goes completely silent, but right before it can become awkward, Gwen squeals and leaps up from Lanzo's lap, throwing herself at Merlin with her arms open wide. He ducks away from Leon and wraps his arms around her, standing taller and grinning. Another cheer goes up, even louder than the first. "Look what the cat dragged in," and "I'll be damned," and other exclamations bounce through the room.

Arthur wants to get up, wants to give Merlin a hard time for being _late, as always, useless manservant_ , but that's not what they are to each other in this life. And he'd promised himself to let Merlin come to him in his own time. Still, it's all he can do to keep his seat and not join Gwen and Leon in the doorway. It's utterly beyond him to avoid staring at the other man, as he had in Morocco. He simply can't take his eyes off the closest friend he ever had.

Lanzo and Gwen make room on their end of the couch, and Arthur makes room on his, and Gavin simply gets up and takes Ambrose by the shoulders and steers him toward the empty spot in the middle, before giving him a little shove so that he falls back onto the couch. "Damn, but it's good to see you, old friend," he's saying, and Merlin is looking a little less scared and a little more like he might weep with happiness. When Arthur is able to tear his eyes away from Merlin's face, he sees that the other man's hands are shaking.

"I can't believe you're really all here," he says. "After all this time."

"Only sorry we didn't find you sooner," says Percival, offering him a beer. Merlin takes it, but Arthur suspects that it's more so that he'll have something to do with his hands.

"You looked?"

"Arthur's been seeking us all out for years," says Allen. "Isn't happy without someone to boss around, you know how it is."

"Oh hush," says Gwen, as Lanzo laughs, "it's not like that at all!"

"The man just misses his old drinking buddies," puts in Gavin. "And it's always nice to know the name of the person you're losing your gambling money to."

They all laugh at that, the tension of the moment broken. Arthur sits back on the couch and watches while everyone comes up and says their hellos one at a time, reintroducing themselves to a man they've never met in this life, before they break back up into smaller knots of conversation. They've all wanted to see Merlin for ages, Arthur knows, and he's more grateful than he can express that they've still all chosen to take his and Gavin's advice to heart: don't push. Don't try to use him. Let him come in his own time. Making him the center of attention, they all seem to understand, would only have made the poor man uncomfortable and likely chased him right back off again.

"I'm glad you're here," says Arthur quietly, after the last man has made Merlin feel welcome. Apart from Gwen and Lanzo on the couch, it's just the two of them, now.

"I'm glad I came," says Merlin.

"Wasn't sure you would."

Ambrose gives him a little half smile. "Me neither." And Arthur can read the apology in his expression, so he just shakes his head. No apology needed, as far as he's concerned.

"You said you needed time. I was happy to give it to you."

Now Merlin smiles wider, a bit of the old mischief in his expression. "Happy?"

"Well. Not _happy_ , no. But I wanted to give you what you needed, rather than making it all about me this time around."

Merlin nods. "I appreciated it. It was Leon, finally, who told me to stop dithering and just come home. 'Come home', that's what he said."

"And are you? Home, I mean."

Merlin looks Arthur over, and his shoulders drop as he finally, finally eases back into the cushions of the couch. "You know, I think maybe I am."

It's a new year, and a time for new beginnings. A storm may be brewing, magic returning to the land, or perhaps there's some other new fight to save Albion, but now that Arthur has Merlin by his side again, he's pretty sure he can face whatever might come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that. A little shorter than the other chapters, but...
> 
> So. If you've read my other author notes or my comment replies, you'll know that I consider this ending to be very slapped-together and tacked-on. I've left a number of loose ends hanging (who is Khalid? What is coming? What about Morgana? Where is Gaius/Mordred/Uther/Ygraine?), because I didn't want to end up writing yet another novel. This one is about 20,000 words and it's still one of the shortest things I've managed to post in ages. Sigh. I have a feeling I may come back to it and flesh it out a bit, sometime down the road, but I make no guarantees. Please don't push for a sequel; I'm like Merlin in that either I will or I won't, but there's not a lot you can do to force me. :) I'm also juggling _way_ too many WIPs at the moment to go and add another one to them.
> 
> Thanks much for reading, and for all your lovely comments. I really appreciate them.
> 
> If you want to leave extra kudos, you're welcome to stop by [my Tumblr blog](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello.


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